Elizabeth Veldin lingered by the bay window of her house one early summer morning waiting. There was a new landscaping service she'd contracted with to mow her lawn, and this day a new stud was supposed to show up, a college boy hired for the summer. She hoped he would be what she needed.
He was. Around 8:30, the kid lumbered into the yard in a beat-up pickup truck, hauling the mower off the back and onto her lawn. Elizabeth smiled, and her pussy wettened. The kid was about 20, blonde, smooth skinned and built like a college athlete she supposed he was. He peeled off his tight t-shirt and she moaned, his chiseled and muscular torso already gleaming with sweat. In the front of his baggy shorts, she detected a noticeable bulge.
"He'll do fine," she said to herself, then patting her muscular thighs, added, "you ready, girls?'
Elizabeth was single, 45 years old, with short blonde hair and bright blue eyes, and a body honed by years of weightlifting, aerobics, working out and wrestling. She stood 5-9 and weighed a stone-hard 130 pounds, most of that in her long, ruggedly lean legs. Tanned and limber, they bulged with noticeable but not overpowering muscle.
Thickish calves bulged from above her slender ankles, her hamstrings were sinewy and lean, her quads etched with just the right amount of muscle tone. She'd get comments on her legs all the time. And she certainly knew what they could do.
She let the boy work his way to the back before she went to her large deck in a stunning white bikini to sun herself - and lead him on. She stretched in the sun, noticing him noticing her, the young boy nervously watching when he didn't think she'd see, eyes wide as she once bent over to lay a towel on the chaise lounge, those hamstrings stretched taut and inviting. She turned to lay down and smiled at him, shooting him a wave and then telling him to cut the engine for a moment.
"You don't mind if I lay out awhile do you young man?" she called, eyes hidden behind dark glasses as she eyeballed his sweaty, muscular frame.
"Not at all, ma'am, you're the boss," he smiled back, somewhat nervously.
"Yes, yes I am the boss, aren't I?" she laughed. "You may call me Mrs. V. What's your name, young man?"
"Bobby," he said, trying not to look at her but unable to avert his eyes.
"OK, Bobby, keep cutting my lawn," she sighed. "I may ask you in a bit to oil up my back and my legs, would that be OK?"
Bobby gulped and hunched over a little Elizabeth giggled, knowing the kid was growing wood in his baggy shorts.
He nodded and hurried along his job, cutting the lawn in long strips, watching her intently when he thought she'd dozed off. But she hadn't. She daydreamed about her thighs wrapped around his sucking face. And then it was time.
She stood and motioned for him to stop mowing and come up on the deck, turning to straighten out her towel, those steely hamstrings roped up in the back of her thighs, her ass completely exposed in her tiny bikini bottom. She heard him on the stairs as she lay on her belly.
"Don't be shy, young man," she said sternly, holding up a bottle of suntan oil. "Now be a dear and get Mrs. V. all wet, would you?"
She heard him gulp as he stepped beside her taking the bottle and squirting it on her long, fairly well muscled back. He knelt and kneaded her flesh, supple and hot, caressing the muscles as his large hands worked the oil in. She liked large hands, it bode well.
"Now my legs, Robert," she said formally. "Start with my calves and work your way up to my thighs."
"Yes," he said.
"Yes, Mrs. V.," she corrected.
